


Limbo and Mesa's Detective Agency

by RogueTranslator



Category: Warframe
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Private Investigators, Buddies, Corpus Politics, Corpus Religion, Corpus Society, Gen, Light Noir, Mystery, Neptune, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: Private investigators Limbo and Mesa have been stuck on one of Neptune's floating cities for seven years, barely scraping by on odd jobs. One day, a mysterious Orokin object is stolen from the governor's mansion, with all signs pointing to a conspiracy within the Corpus Board of Directors at Psamathe. The owner of the artifact, an aging movie star and heiress, is offering a king's ransom for its return. It could be just the break they've been waiting for—or exactly the kind of trouble they don't need.
Relationships: Limbo & Mesa (Warframe)
Kudos: 5





	Limbo and Mesa's Detective Agency

It was morning on Neptune, as set by Corpus timekeeping. Outside the window, cyan tempests of ammonia and water ice pitched and heaved into each other like battling leviathans. Lightning arced diagonally across the horizon of the floating metropolis with punishing rapidity, pummeling one transport enough to force it off its path and back to a nearby docking bay. Limbo stirred his tea languorously. Stormwatching, he hoped, would lift him out of his beginning-of-the-week doldrums. It was a distraction at the very least.

He had about decided to return to one of the few meagre case files stashed in the top drawer of his desk when the blinds on the window of the office’s front door clattered and a pair of familiar boots stomped in.

“Guess what I’ve done?”

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t be like that; you’re starting to sound like an old man.” According to her, he’d been ‘starting to sound like an old man’ for at least four Earth-years by now.

“I couldn’t possibly.” Limbo turned around and placed his mug on its coaster. “Guess, I mean.”

“I got us a very lucrative, very exciting—” Mesa stopped and assessed his expression. “—Very _non_ -hazardous case on the way to the office today.”

Limbo sat down behind his desk and crossed his arms. “Is that right?”

“Apparently some fancy Orokin sceptre was stolen from a soiree at the governor’s residence last night. Haven’t you heard about it?”

“That hasn’t been reported.” He looked down at his console. “Actually, I had a message from The Lemur this morning that the Corpus prods are all in a tizzy over something. I was waiting to hear more.”

“Well, now you have,” she said brightly. Mesa walked to her desk and sank into her chair, clasping her hands behind her head in self-satisfaction.

“So—” Limbo pushed several papers to the side and turned to face her. “Forgive me if I’m being thick, but where do we come in? I thought you said someone had hired you.”

“Well, as good as.”

Limbo sighed.

“It’s an old buddy of mine, Jex, from back when I was working on Mars.”

“Ah. From the bounty hunting days.”

“Get your nose out of the air. What we do here’s pretty much the same thing.”

“I highly doubt that,” Limbo scoffed.

“Anyway, Jex works as the majordomo for this rich old biddy who used to be a movie star. It’s her sceptre that got swiped. He tells me that she’s on the lookout for some discreet help with recovering it. Doesn’t trust the prods to handle it, apparently.”

“Then she has some sense.” Limbo sipped his darjeeling. “They’ll be involved, though, regardless. Even if it is her bauble, it was stolen from the governor’s mansion, and the fact that all’s mum this morning means that the prods are combing the city from top to bottom.”

“If you ask me, that’s a good thing. There’s no way it’s still here. We can get ahead of them while they waste their time crawling through ventilation ducts and pumping petty thieves for information.”

“The prods having a head start is only the first problem.” Limbo tapped at his console, bringing up a holographic representation of the city’s upper promenade in the centre of the room. “There’s no way we’ll be able to even get into the district around the governor’s residence: it’s been put on soft lockdown by the chancellery. We can’t accept a case if we aren’t even able to talk to the people who were there or look for a trail.”

“Oh, please, Limby. We’ve passed through soft lockdown dozens of times. You’re just throwing cold water because it’s what you do.”

“Penetrate soft lockdown around the most secure part of the city? I like my head on my shoulders, thank you very much. Besides—”

“Ugh. You mean there’s more?”

“—Besides, as I told you last week, the new furniture’s arriving today, and I have to be here to let the workers in.” He drained the rest of the tea, then frowned. “And to make sure that they don’t leave random dents around our office like last time.”

“Why can’t your cephalon handle that?”

“Girona’s too much of a soft touch. The last time I left her alone in the office when labourers were scheduled, I returned to see one of them sleeping on our couch and the other foraging in our cabinets for biscuits. Looked at me like butter wouldn’t melt.”

“You did say to be friendly,” Cephalon Girona noted, her sinuous magenta lines appearing over the city map hologram.

“Don’t take any notice of him,” Mesa said, putting her feet up on her desk. “He’s just making excuses.”

Limbo retrieved the case files from his desk and stacked them neatly in front of him. “We can wait for a little more information before jumping in feetfirst, at the very least.”

“Wait?” Mesa snorted. “The thing will probably be halfway to the Martian black market by the end of tomorrow. If it’s already out of the city, passing regional customs and fibbing the exosphere contraband scan will be the easy parts.”

Limbo opened his mouth to respond, but the jingle of an incoming call at his terminal interrupted him.

“Lemur,” Limbo said, pressing his index finger to the desk. “Finally pulled your finger out, have you?”

“Funny,” growled the voice at the other end. “Sorry to keep you waiting; I’ve only had prods breathing down my neck for the last twelve hours.”

Mesa glanced around her boots. “Why’s your hologram switched off, Lem?”

“I don’t like my hair today,” The Lemur said dryly.

“Nothing like a little Monday morning banter.” Limbo rose and walked to the kettle. “How are things in your neck of the woods?”

“Just peachy, Limbo.” There was the rattling sound of a temperamental engine turning over. “The two of you should visit the Esplanade more often; lovely views of dissidents being publicly shamed and tortured up here that you just can’t get elsewhere.”

“I prefer the anonymity of our back-alley office in the Cargo District,” Limbo said, pouring a coffee for Mesa and another tea for himself. “Even if my partner yearns for the bright lights.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not as anonymous as you think. My source in the chancellery says the prods are convinced it was an inside job, and one of the links they’re looking at is between the manager of the owner’s household and that aforementioned partner of yours.”

“That’s just great,” Mesa muttered, as Limbo handed her the coffee.

“It’s not at the top of their list, but I figured you should know. Probably should expect them later today, maybe tomorrow at the latest.”

“That’s a shame. We might just be out of the office when they come knocking.” Mesa sipped her coffee.

“But—”

“What?”

“The furniture delivery,” Limbo said, grimacing. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve been waiting for these items for a while.”

The Lemur cleared his throat. “The what?”

“Just reschedule it.” Mesa dropped her feet to the ground and brought up the city’s transit restriction bulletin. “Better yet, cancel the thing altogether. We’ll have to get new furniture once we’re in our swanky new office on Triton.”

“Still trying to convince that curmudgeon to move?” The Lemur chuckled; there was the sound of a biometric scan, then several doors sliding open. “Good luck with that, toots.”

“Save the ‘toots’ talk for your secretary, Lem. You won’t be laughing when we’re raking in the dough from this job.” Mesa swigged the rest of her coffee.

“I’ll be over the moon, Mesa. It’ll mean that the two of you can finally pay me something for my services.”

“Come on,” she replied. “We pass useful tidbits on to you at least as often as you do for us.”

“I think you’ll find that the balance is tilted pretty significantly in one direction, dear. Not that I’ve been counting.”

“Perish the thought,” Limbo said crisply. “Was there anything else, Lemur?”

“Yes, actually. I hear the chancellery’s going to be implementing a silent transit lockdown at fourteen hundred, after the governor’s convoy departs for Psamathe. If you feel like getting out of Dodge, you should make a move before then.”

“He’s been summoned to Psamathe, eh?” Limbo stroked his chin. “Someone’s in a spot of bother.”

“Or he’s just waiting for the situation to die down,” Mesa added.

“I’d put my money on the former,” The Lemur said, and there was the groaning of leather as he fell into his chair. He was a corpulent man. “Something tells me the prods are right to suspect an inside job, but I’d bet it’s from within the governor’s entourage rather than the actress’s.”

“And the person behind it is one of his enemies on the board of directors at Psamathe,” Mesa finished.

“Intriguing.” Limbo leaned forward and brought up a hologram of docking bay availability. “Any particular reason you’ve come to this conclusion?”

“None whatsoever,” he replied, over the clinking of ice and the sloshing of spirits. There was a pause that suggested multiple layers of secrets. “Let’s talk again soon.” The console went dark.

Mesa stood up and began pacing along the diagonal of the office. “That makes it a bit easier, then.”

“Come again?”

“You heard him. The prods are paying us a visit. Transit ban’s coming down in a few hours. The governor’s entire retinue is leaving for Psamathe.”

“Which means it’s the perfect time to draw a line under this,” Limbo concluded.

“What?” She stopped pacing and stared at him. “No, you old ninny! It means the perfect job to set us up for life just got easier. We don’t have to infiltrate the Governing District at all now. We can just fly out, follow the convoy to Psamathe, search for leads there. And the cherry on top: we’ll be out of atmo for the duration of the ruckus here.”

“What do you mean, we don’t have to go to the Governing District? Isn’t that where the actress is?”

Mesa looked at him as if he’d just suggested that she marry a crawler. “Of course not, Limby. You think anyone with that kind of money would choose to live on this floating pile of scrap? Where the lovely aroma of methane permeates everyone and everything? Where the most rabid and ruthless temple enforcers in the system exercise total control over people’s lives? She lives on Triton, along with every Neptunian who matters.”

“Not this about Triton again,” Limbo began. “Change the record, Mesa.”

“No.” She walked up to his desk and leaned her palms into the synthetic oak. “Look, if it were up to you, we’d be atmo-dwellers for the rest of our lives. Barely getting by on the credits we make from finding runaway sons, or recovering the effects of some executed political prisoner for her family, or bringing in a noncompliant asset for Lemur. Not to mention the delightful twin menaces of the prods and the religious police. Can’t you see that this place sucks?”

“Well, it’s been good enough for you for the better part of a decade,” Limbo said tartly.

“No, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean you, our business.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at the photographs, paintings, framed keepsakes and trinkets on the walls. “I’d never abandon you; not after you took me in when things went bad on Mars.”

Limbo smiled faintly and flipped over a page in one of the folders.

“I just feel restless. And there’s more out there for us; I know it. Don’t you think we’ve been stuck here for too long? You wandered the system too, back in your day.”

“But being a private investigator isn’t like bounty hunting, Mesa. It helps to be embedded in a place, a network of people.” He cranked up the magnification on one of the medical records in the folder. “You need trust, local contacts. Gifts for people’s children. I know all that bores you now and again, but those links are why I can count on two hands the number of times we’ve had to do more than threaten violence in the course of a job.”

“And we can have all that. On Triton. Or even somewhere else, if you think we’ll have more luck on Venus or Saturn or wherever. Sure, we’ll have to start over, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

Limbo sighed and closed the folder. “This Jex: how much do you trust him?”

“As much as I trust you,” Mesa replied, without hesitation. “He saved my life more than once back on Mars.”

“Still.” He drummed his fingertips together in front of his chest. “Getting entangled in all this Corpus palace intrigue. And an Orokin artefact. I have a bad feeling.”

“It’s a risk,” she conceded. “But Jex says that she’s offering a reward of 100 million credits.”

“Goodness. She must really adore that sceptre.”

“Think of what we could do with that!” She walked to the window and peered out into the clouds. “Whatever we please, that’s what. Starting with literally going to the moon.”

“For that kind of money, every Tom, Dick, and Harry with a Lato and a spaceworthy vessel will be after it.” Limbo spun around in his chair and looked through the window with her; the storm was letting up now. “That will complicate things.”

Mesa shook her head. “No, Jex said he could delay posting the reward for twenty-four hours when I told him we’d look into it. He’s her majordomo, after all.”

Limbo snorted.

“I know, I know.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I figured I’d be able to bring you around to the idea.”

“Did you, now.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” Mesa angled her head up and watched the storm. “I see where you’re coming from. Maybe you’re right: maybe it’s better to not get involved in this one.”

Limbo folded his hands together in his lap and looked down, contemplating. After several seconds, he whirled back to his desk, closed his folders, and dropped them into his drawer.

“Girona?”

“Yes, Limbo?”

“Cancel the furniture delivery, please.”

“Wait.” Mesa twisted around and walked up to him. “What?”

“And ready the _Riftwalk_ for departure.”

“Processing,” Girona replied.

“Yes!” Mesa punched Limbo’s shoulder and walked to her arsenal. “You won’t regret this, Limby. I promise.”

“Famous last words,” Limbo mumbled. He checked the mods on his Gammacor, then picked up his bowler hat.

“Alright, we might regret it.” She inspected the cylinders of a pair of dual pistols. “But what’s life without trying?”

“A fascinating philosophical question.”

“ _Riftwalk_ has been cleared for departure from Passenger Bay 15-5.”

“Thank you, Girona.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “Are you ready? We need to be in the air before fourteen hundred, and there’s bound to be a queue for takeoff.”

“Ready, partner.” Mesa closed her arsenal and made her way over to him. “Triton first, then Psamathe?”

“Agreed.” Limbo opened the door. “After you.”

She walked into the alleyway and turned back to him. “Been a while since we hit the road together, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” Limbo flicked the blinds shut and locked the door. “You might be right, though. This could be just the break we need.”

“And Lem said you were a stubborn old man.”

“So did you,” Limbo scoffed.

“Come on,” Mesa said, pretending to not have heard him. She started running to the end of the alley. “Let’s get going; we don’t want to miss our shot!”

“To the moon,” Limbo agreed, and hastened to catch up with her.


End file.
